The Beauty of the Beast
by The Shipping Queen
Summary: AU. What if Belle was The Dark One, instead of Rumplestiltskin? What might she be like, and how would it affect the story? Rumbelle.
1. Chapter One: Beyond Desperate

Title:

Chapter One: Beyond Desperate

The soldiers' dining hall had yet to take on its normally dreary feel- at least, as far as the warriors were concerned. They hadn't yet been to the battle field; that would be saved for tomorrow, when the whole lot of them would be dragged out to pasture and forced to fight the ogres in this awful war. And the worst part of it, the worst of it all, was that this room was lined from wall to wall with children. Nearly every seat was occupied by someone who was far too young to fully comprehend what they were giving up- no, no, they hadn't given it up, it was being taken from them.

It turned Rumplestiltskin's stomach.

He wasn't young enough to fight in this battle, nor was he fit enough for them to write off the age limit. The only thing he could do while he was here was provide food and take on some of the janitorial labors which would assuredly be in excess considering that there had to be at least a hundred pre-teen to teenagers in just this section of military base. For now, he was cooking. So far, he hadn't managed to find a word to say to anyone. Several of the adults, mostly military chaperones responsible for ordering the soldiers around, took their turns picking at him. They elbowed him into the cauldron where he was cooking, tugged at his head, tore at his clothes. Yet, he said nothing.

The only thing he was reasonably good at cooking was soup. He stood there, eyes intent on the ingredients suspended in water, mixing it around as though it would make any difference at all at this point. Really, he just wanted something to focus on other than the sneering and snickering of the royal soldiers throughout the place. By now, though, he was used to it; as a child, he was the son of a coward. Now an adult, he was the coward. The children looked at him like they weren't certain of him, and they probably weren't. They knew nothing about him.

It was unfortunate that Baelfire wasn't with him among this group- perhaps their confused opinions could be swayed- but maybe that would be for the best, as well. Perhaps then Bae would have been marked the son of a coward. While he stood there, drowning in his thoughts, two rough hands jerked his right shoulder and pushed him into the side of the cauldron, searing his already injured leg. He cried out in pain and fell over in the scramble to get away while the culprit stood behind him, arms folded.

"All meals are to be eaten promptly at six o'clock, coward," he said, throwing a clay bowl directly at his head. Rumplestiltskin flinched and raised his arm to protect it. "That means yours,"

Again, he said nothing, but picked up the bowl and the crutch he'd fallen over with and struggled into a standing position. Once on his feet, he tentatively served himself and then limped over to the nearest place to sit- a table with a somewhat diverse group of boys who were still showing off to each other in an attempt to look brave, noble, powerful. In days, they would be complaining to each other about the higher ranks. In weeks, they would be crying to each other about how much they wished to go home.

"My father is a professional military man," the largest boy at the table spoke, straightening up his spine with an arrogant gleam in his eye. It was hard to tell, thus far, if that 'arrogance' was deserved. "He could wrestle a whole ogre to the ground with his bare hands," that one came with a smile.

It was, undoubtedly, a lie. An exaggeration at best. The cook still said nothing.

"Have you ever seen one?" asked a small voice with a distinctively foreign accent; "An ogre?"

"Of course not," someone at the table answered for him, cutting off the enthusiastic lie he was about to tell instead. "None of us have. And if his father thinks he could wrestle a whole ogre to the ground, it's a fair bet he's never seen one, either,"

There would be some obvious conflict between the two of them. The larger boy narrowed his eyes at the challenger. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"Yes," he responded, totally unimpressed.

"Save the fighting for the battle field, guys," the younger one piped up, obviously not enjoying the dissention between them. His psyche would probably be the first to crack among them, if he survived that long. Of course, these were teenagers he was speaking to.

"I'll make you eat those words, you...you..._worm_!"

The boy responded with a cold, apathetic gaze. Another one at the table, who hadn't spoken a word that Rumplestiltskin had heard, slurped the remaining broth from his bowl and muttered;

"Good soup,"

"It was okay,"

As the previously unseen boy finished the last of his broth, he began; "My father fought in two of the wars," he breathed; "died in the second. When I was a child, he told me stories of the land out here,"

"Like what?" inquired the little one, obviously the youngest of the group- that boy with the odd accent.

"Well," the boy leaned forward on the table. "According to my father, this battle ground out here used to belong to an ancient kingdom," Rumplestiltskin shifted his eyes over to the speaker. He had heard this story a few time before- once being long ago, when he was a soldier instead of a cook at the military base. He didn't expect them to still be talking about it this long after. "It was protected by a magic so strong that the ogres couldn't even touch the grounds," even the littlest boy was skeptical at that.

"Where would someone get a magic like that?"

To that, he smirked. "That depends on whom you ask," he was definitely an educated boy, this one. "Some say it wasn't really magic that protected the land, but a peace treaty. Others say the king was an expert in protection spells...but I'll tell you what my father told me," as he continued the story, he folded his left arm over the table and leaned into it; "The residents of that castle had an agreement with the most powerful wizard in all the worlds. That wizard was known as the Dark One,"

"What would the most powerful wizard in all the worlds want with a kingdom of this universe?" the boy who seemed intent on challenging every spoken word pushed back at him. The story teller, not falling prey to the antics, merely shrugged.

"Legend has it," he explained, turning his head; "this 'Dark One' can be controlled by a simple weapon- his dagger. Whoever holds the dagger controls him; if you kill him with it, you become the new Dark One," this lead to yet another disapproving scoff from the table skeptic. "Perhaps that dagger simply fell into their hands, and the kingdom was absolved once he retrieved it. What do you boys think?" he added, lightly tapping his fist against the table.

Even in a land filled with magic, there was lore about still more magic. Of course there was no such thing. Only a man truly desperate for more power would believe such a thing.

Rumplestiltskin didn't have time to listen to their answers. He felt a sharp knee dig into his lower spine. Instinctively, he dropped the bowl- still half-full of hot soup broth- all over himself, burning his skin and causing a few blisters as he fell down to the ground, hitting his shoulders first as he held his head up. His flesh screamed in agony, and he let out a long groan of pain, holding his hand over the throbbing patches on his stomach.

"Have a nice bath?" mocked the brutal soldier with a joyless smile. "You've had enough storytime," he turned to the whole room, cupped his hands over his mouth, and hollered; "Meal time is over! Everyone is dismissed!" then he threw the older man's crutch down onto his chest. "That means you, too. Maybe tomorrow, you'll eat more punctually,"

He laid there, writhing and seething until nearly everyone had left the room, then painfully hoisted himself up on his crutch. Now that everyone was gone, it would be his job to work on clean-up. Sighing deeply, he decided he may as well get to it and started about the room, gathering the utenisls they had used for eating. The military men had gone with the new recruits to brief them on what to expect from boot camp, leaving him alone for the time being.

Perhaps he shouldn't have come. He had been thinking that ever since the royal soldiers finally gave into his pleading to be allowed along, then told him he wouldn't be allowed to fight. Once the contract was sealed, it was sealed- and curse his fate that he couldn't read. It didn't help that they wouldn't accept his sacrifice in the place of the one person he came for. Heaving a sigh, he sat against the stool in front of the wash basin for the dishes, extended his leg so that it didn't ache, and began washing them up spick and span. As he cleaned up, his mind wandered- back to that tale about the ancient kingdom or whatever. It seemed like it had changed a little since the last time he heard it, probably evolving down the line as the few people still telling this story (soldiers, beggars, and criminals, mostly) continued on with their rumors.

Thankfully, no one bothered Rumplestiltskin while he tended to the chores- not even after the briefing. When he exited the dining quarters, he came across another room lined up with several sleeping bags (the monarchy didn't see fit to give their warriors adequate sleeping materials where it interfered with their imported teas, he supposed) and children stationed at each one of them- still chatting somewhat jovially, though the more delicate ones were starting to express a little sadness as the night came on. The royal soldiers all probably had a much nicer place to stay, and so had left the soldiers alone, as though they were adults who could fend for themselves. He hobbled over to the one sleeping bag that wasn't occupied, situated in the middle of the room, and sat down on top of it. He would have preferred a more isolated spot, but didn't expect to get much say in the matter. The only thing in the room apart from the sleeping bags was a large fire place, big enough to illuminate the room when lit. It was barely smouldering right now, though, leaving just a red hot glow beneath the wood and a thin veil of smoke in the room. If he remembered correctly, they used it year-round not because it was cold but because they might need to see if they were spotted in the middle of the night. It seemed that no one had bothered to stock it properly, though. The cook heaved a sigh and looked up at the ceiling. The burns and blister marks on his stomach still nagged at him, particularly when he moved and fabric brushed against them. They weren't his first, and they wouldn't be his last if these other army generals had anything to say about it.

The number of years on his existence were impossibly too long. He was just middle-aged, but it felt excessively long and tedious. When he fought in the war, they never would have chosen children to be soldiers. It was beyond disgusting. These children should be at home, learning to hunt and mend shoes and put carpeting down on floors, not chatting with each other about how many ogres they were going to skin on the battlefield. Not stealing glances at each other in concern for who would be the first among them to die.

This was beyond hopeless. How did the monarchs expect a group of kids to be able to march out onto the battlefield and stop powerful, magical creatures when the town's best fighters couldn't? Their sacrifices would all be for naught. Here they were, being dragged from their homes and lives to be trained by brutal soldiers, and for what? Their families would die anyways. The entire kingdom would die, anyways. At the very least, they could have let these children die in their parents' arms.

Sickened at the thought, Rumplestiltskin realized he couldn't tolerate himself as long as he was looking at their faces, and got up again. Gathering firewood for the nearly-dead fire provided a good enough excuse, should anyone ask, though he knew they wouldn't. Because there was no window inside, he was surprised when he left to find the world around him nearly completely dark. There were but a few streaks twinged with gray. It was still muggy and the air was thick with humidity. The crickets, however, neglected to chirp their nightly songs in this place. There were no sounds of birds or of anything else except what was made by the wind and the trees. He sighed deeply and limped around to find firewood- which proved to be quite a daunting task with a bum leg and no blade with which to cut from trees. Before he knew it, the only light around him was the half-moon in the sky. He had gotten all sweaty, the constant motion aggravated the patch of blisters on his stomach, his whole throat was dry and his legs both ached from the ambulating- not to mention the horrid time it was to carry a stack of firewood with only one hand. One clumsy step into a small dip in the ground he didn't notice and he dropped everything, including himself.

The man heaved a frustrated sigh, but anger did him no good. He couldn't see anything, so he blindly grabbed around to find his crutch, searching with his eyes. Right about the time he found it, a strange gleam caught his eye from under the tree that wasn't far from him. The moonlight glowed off of it. He narrowed his eyes and shakily brought himself to his feet again. Then, out of curiosity, he stepped towards the small object. It looked like some sort of oddly-shaped weapon with an engraving on it that was probably someone's name. He reached for it, both wanting to see what it was up close and thinking it might belong to one of the boys so he should return it.

"Are you just going to take that?"

Rumplestiltskin immediately stopped and pulled himself back. He hadn't heard anyone else around, no footsteps or anything, and yet, there was clearly someone here with him. Had he been baited, somehow? Was this some sort of trap by the enemy troops? In response to her question, he merely shook his head.

"Looks like I've dropped something," the girl mumbled to herself and pushed past him, then picked up the small object. Her accent was...unforgettable, to say the least. Her voice sounded lovely with it. There were females among the troops, but none in the camp he was staying at, so she couldn't be from this group. Once she turned to face him, he got a better look at her and was left aghast.

Her skin was almost scaly in appearance. She even seemed to be shedding in some places an ashy-white flesh. It looked rough, like he might scratch himself on her skin if he touched her, and she stared at him with emotionless blue eyes. Her gaze was the most human thing about her, and even that was cold and hard. She smirked at his terror.

"Don't you think it's rude to stare?"

"I...I..." he made himself look away. "You're right. I'm sorry,"

She giggled and took a few steps closer to him, making him visibly uncomfortable with their proximity. "Preparing the troops for war, I see," the girl mentioned, directing her gaze back towards the camp for a second, then back at him again.

He wasn't anticipating any more conversation than that. Still, Rumplestiltskin nodded. This man was not very interesting to talk to. She could stand here all night asking questions like that just to get him talking, and it wouldn't work.

"Isn't it sad?" she pushed. "All those children in there, having their whole fates planned out by someone who will never have to give anything of themselves,"

Although he shouldn't have, he eased up as she spoke to him. He knew, logically, that she could literally be anybody saying anything to get him to go against his rulers and then he'd be in for a rude punishment, but he nevertheless relaxed and brought his eyes back to her.

"Yes," he nodded, choosing his words carefully still. "I wish we could just end these wars- at least for them,"

Her eyes glimmered, as though she had finally gotten something she was looking to acquire, and he noticed a small smile on her face when he looked hard enough. "Oh? Really?" she asked in an attempt to probe, reaching out her hand and stroking his cheek. He flinched and drew away from her touch, leading to a small laugh as she pulled her hand away. "What would you give up for that, then? If someone offered it to you?"

And he wasn't really thinking when he answered "Anything they wished in exchange,"

She chuckled, twirling the dagger around in her fingers at her side. "Is that so?" she asked.

"Yes, but..." he let out a defeated sigh; "it would be impossible,"

"Impossible?" she hovered a few inches from his face by that point, only stopping where she was because if she got any closer she'd have a hard time staring into her eyes. "Have you ever heard the Legend of the Dark One?"

He nodded, because he most assuredly had. That story had plagued him for the last several years of his life, making his seconds- minutes- hours- torturously long. "Some legends are just legends," he told her calmly. "N-now, if you don't mind, I'd really...better be getting back,"

And the strange girl giggled at him again as he tried to back out of the space they shared. With a slight tilt of her head, she told him in a soft voice; "I shall make sure you keep that promise,"

Those were the last words she spoke before she vanished. Rumplestiltskin stood there and stared at the spot, motioning his hand over the space she had occupied. An illusion? A mirage? He didn't know, but he hardly considered himself ill enough for that, even though there was absolutely no evidence she had been there at all. He slowly made his way for the dropped pile of wood, re-gathered it as best as he could, and slowly headed for the camp site, where the large group of teenagers were all still awake- some of them even rough housing in an attempt to show off.

Whatever just happened, he knew he could never explain it to anyone.

xxxxxxxxxx

By the next morning, that conversation already felt like a dream- like something he had made up in his mind while he was out. Yet, it still stood out in his mind, if for no other reason than because he could not have concocted that sort of visage in the wildest parts of his imagination.

He woke up an hour before the rest of them as instructed to make sure they had food at promptly 7:00am. For breakfast, he made oatmeal. The army generals didn't arrive until ten minutes before breakfast time, and they made their presence known beyond uncertainty:

"WHAT ARE YOU SOLDIERS STILL DOING IN BED?!" bellowed out a man with a deep voice that frightened Rumplestiltskin from the other room; "UP UP UP UP UP UP UP..." he imagined that they were scrambling to their feet, and they had all piled into the dining hall before he knew it. Exhausted and confused from sleep, they stood in a silent, single-file line, trying desperately to tense up their muscles enough to stand at attention while the royal soldiers circled them.

"What are you waiting for?" one of them shoved into his shoulder blade. Hands shaking, he picked up the bowls and began serving each of them in line. All one hundred of them were expected to be served by seven; he didn't know how, but that had actually succeeded. Then he took his own bowl to a table and sat down. Only a few had the energy to still be talking at this hour. Most were loud enough that extraneous chatter from the tables wasn't missed by those sitting there.

Rumplestiltskin wasn't hungry in the slightest. This room was full of corpses, and it was more real to him now than it had been the previous night. The last thing he wanted to do was eat. He wanted to take these children out of here and get them back home before they had to see any of this. Yet, what could he do? He was a powerless man with one working leg and scarcely enough to eat on. He had no influence. He was a no one. The adult soldiers chose not to heckle him this morning, as it seemed they were running late for something. One of them hollered out to the room;

"Time to get going now! Move out!"

And they left their dishware there immediately. The cook gave up on eating once he was sure they were gone and scouted the room. A few of the boys evidently had the same queasy feeling in their stomachs; either that, or they didn't like the food. With everyone gone, he did his jobs at leisure- which, in spite of the crippling injury, was quite fast as he tried to do so much that he didn't let his mind wander. It could only be helped so much.

The first of two very strange incidents happened shortly into the day. While he was cautiously dragging a mop and bucket around to get all the floors cleaned, a 'thump' vibrated against the door. Startled, and frankly panicked at the thought of the soldiers returning early, he approached the door. There was another 'thump,' this one with two fists. He'd have to open the door sooner or later. 'Thump.' Finally, he opened it.

There, standing before him, was a man dressed in military attire. He didn't look like he was from this camp. Something about him, though, was incredibly familiar. He was certain he knew the man's name, if he could only access that memory.

"Can...can I help you?"

The question earned him a long stare that struck the cook as confusion mixed with curiosity.

"Where is everyone?" he sounded frightened of something. "...what...what happened?"

Rumplestiltskin drew his head back slightly; "I have no idea,"

The man grabbed his head. It looked like he had a migraine at first, but the cook soon realized he was feeling around for signs of wounds. "...I...I got injured..." he shook his head at himself.

"...well," he pulled the door back; "why don't you just come in? I'll...I'll fetch you something to eat," they didn't have extra anything in this place, and Rumple was under strict orders not to use more than necessary, but as long as everything remained quiet, a small indiscretion shouldn't be made a big deal. Nevertheless, the soldier standing outside shook his head.

"No," he said; "No, I just want to get back,"

And with that, he walked away.

What exactly just happened? He stood there a small while before shutting the door, trying to puzzle through it. Eventually, he gave up and decided it didn't really matter what it was, but that poor man was going to be in a lot of trouble for lateness. He may as well have just stayed at the camp site.

By the end of that hour, life had returned to normal- or at least, things were going the same way they had been before the incident. Some of his appetite had gradually started returning, so he nibbled a little more at the now-cold oatmeal left over in his (or...he hoped it was his...) bowl. He was still sitting there, loitering about, when the door nearly came falling in from the force of a fist pressed against it. He jumped in alarm and fell to the ground from the chair. An early arrival of that force could not possibly have been a good thing. Uncertain of what to do, he laid there, sprawled out against the floor while he waited to be smelled out.

Stomping, heavy footsteps pounded outside, growing ever closer. It was probably a good idea to stay on the ground in case they decided to mock him some more. The man who walked in, he now saw, was one of the highest-ranking generals. He'd lost a few shades in his skin color and his pupils were constricted. Rumplestiltskin didn't dare speak.

"..." the man glanced around the room, then shook his head and stared straight at the man as though he'd known he was there the whole time. The table had likely been blocking his view. He shook his head again. Finally, he said something; "There was an attack at the course today," he mumbled.

"An attack? Is everyone alright?" the cripple strained for his crutch and pulled himself up as quickly as possible.

The soldier glared at him. Yet again, he shook his head, as though he was trying to get something out. His heart sunk. The children. The children! They were all dead- and in the middle of training! The ogre's hadn't even waited until they knew how to hold a sword!

Disheartened, he limped into the main quarters- the 'bedroom,' where the tale became even stranger. Every soldier from his camp site, and even a few extras, was hustling and bustling about. The soldier who'd just been speaking to him exited through the kitchen and huffed;

"Pack up," to the scraggly coward. "We're going home,"

He was confused, but didn't dare ask him any more questions. He couldn't even bring himself to agree. Since he'd had nothing worth bringing, he had nothing to bring back- save for all the children who were here.

While in his silence, he listened to their recounts of what had happened on the training field. Evidently, the day had started off as planned. It had been abrupt when a whole group of ogres, on their way to the battlefields, came ominously close to the training grounds. One of the boys had been literally in the hand of one of them, when a girl- "the most beautiful girl I've ever seen" was how they described her- arrived just as suddenly as the ogres had. As the story went on, she evidently raised her arm towards the towering monsters, ordered the captor to let go of the soldier ("gently"), and- just like that- she'd made the fighting stop. She sent them on their way, told them to go destroy their own kingdom if they liked destruction so much, and they obeyed.

He considered it for a few seconds. This couldn't have to do with the woman he'd met the previous night, could it? That was impossible.

...of course, so was running off to Neverland.

You would think that someone like the Dark One would have introduced herself.


	2. Chapter Two: Serendipity

Title: The Beauty of the Beast

Chapter Two: Serendipity

-Five years later

Conmen were a detested group even among criminals. So were cowards. Rumplestiltskin was two-fold. He worked in the fine art of illusionment, and cheap gimmicks besides. He won at gambling games using "trick" items, and while most knew this, there were still those few who took it as a challenge to best him at his own game. Interestingly enough, he made more money this way than his previous job, when he'd tried to make a living at spinning textiles.

It was the end of the work week, which was always a busy day for a man who made his living in and around pubs. This one, in particular, was not starting out too well. You could tell things were going badly when someone was on your throat within the first hour, shouting at you:

"You thieving fiend!" the man held a knife up at his throat with his right hand while pinning him to the wall with the other. Rumple only grinned back at him, albeit nervously. "Where is the trick?!"

"Wha-whatever are you talking about?" he responded with an awkward laugh. "See? Nothing up my sleeve," when he raised his hand, the sleeve fell down and, indeed, revealed nothing. The man punched him square in the face.

"Count yourself lucky, you coward," he growled; "that I'm not a scum-bag like you," he released his grip and put the knife away. Before he left, though, he turned and punched him right in the gut. He struggled, but managed not to fall over completely; instead, he just stood there, with his arm protectively over the spot. As he walked away, the furious victim of Rumple's latest card game muttered; "Bastard."

The slouching conman immediately pricked himself up at attention. A wry smile curled at his mouth, and this laugh was so high-pitched it was nearly demented. The man didn't get much farther than a few steps before Rumplestiltskin pounded the back of his head, knocking him off-balance to the ground. Then, he took his crutch and beat him with it- over and over- slamming him in the face, stomach- it didn't very much matter to him where it went. The server neglected to defend either of them, seeing as one was a known criminal and the other a con artist.

Evidently, he was stronger than he looked. He said nothing, though he was clearly nervous when the man grabbed his crutch and jerked. "Alright, you worm," he spat, standing up; "You're gonna wish I'd-"

"Stop," a woman grabbed him by the arm. The mere touch of her fingers made him stop in place, but not for long.

"Let go of me, you whore!" he glared and pulled his arm away. "This doesn't concern you!"

"Hoh!" she laughed, her mouth forming a nearly perfect "O" shape. "What rude language! I'm hardly a whore," the woman appeared small in frame but, like the cripple, she must have been stronger than she looked as well. She pulled him back without straining in the slightest. "And, as a matter of fact, this _does_ concern me,"

All Rumplestiltskin could do was stare at her. He was certain he'd never met anyone who resembled her in his entire life, but her voice and accent...he'd heard it before, he knew it. She brushed the man away as though he was a small speck of dust, waving her hand delicately in front of his face. He blinked and came to a realization, looking around like he didn't know how he'd gotten where he was, and mumbled;

"I'm sorry," before traipsing back to his table.

"What a pest," she said jokingly to the conman. Then, she got uncomfortably close to him and reached for him. He instinctively flinched and drew back.

Rumple pulled his bum leg back without lifting it from the ground. The exhertion had probably gotten to him.

"Here," how did she get a hold of the crutch? He didn't see her take it from the other brawler. Hesitant and horrified, he took it from her. As he gradually came back in tune with his five senses, he realized the other occupants of the bar had started muttering about him under their breath, though their insults were no different from what he heard every day. "Don't worry about them,"

The way she spoke and carried herself made him feel as though he should kneal, or at least bow- something of the sort. She seemed to belong to some higher class of people. Even her clothing was far more extravagant than anything the people down here could afford- he could tell by sight it was made from the finest of silks and most expensive of dyes, and it was certainly no prostitute's attire.

"Don't you think it's rude to stare?" she asked with a coy smile, and he could feel his memories of this woman nagging at his brain. "Come on, now. I think you owe me a drink,"

Feeling he had no right to refuse, he nodded slowly and followed her up to the bar. He had just won three days' pay from that criminal and he was planning on drinking some of that money later anyways. The two of them sat down and he tried to force himself to stop staring at her in the confusion that still racked his brain. Why did she seem so familiar to him? What was she doing here? Why did she have anything to do with him?

"What do you suggest?" she asked him. "I've never been here before,"

"The wheat beer," he replied, looking back at her.

The woman nodded and waved the tender over. "One pint of your wheat beer, please,"

He shuffled behind the counters to comply. Within a few seconds, it was in front of her. The man slammed his palm down on the table in front of Rumplestiltskin, breaking his attention from this strange woman who suddenly came to demand his company.

"Payment," he barked. He nodded and handed him the currency.

She took a drink and swallowed the whole mouthful. This may have been her first time at this particular pub, but she was definitely no stranger to alcohol. "It's alright," she commented, setting it down. "I'll stick with my wine in the long run, though," again, the girl reached her hand over, this time presumably to grab his. He pulled back to avoid her, and she smirked at him. Touchless, wasn't he? This amused her. "This conversation is getting awfully boring by myself,"

"What business do you have with me?"

"There we go. Questions are a good way to stimulate a conversation," she teased. "We struck a deal a few years ago. I came to make good on it,"

"Wha-what?" an old client? She let out a chuckling "hmph" at the panic on his face. Was this another one of his deals gone south? "Who are you?"

"My name is Belle," she told him, taking another drink. "But I don't really think that's what you want to know," he was silenced by that.

"I don't recognize you at all," she was mildly surprised by this; "but I don't have any money,"

"I guess it's good that there was no money involved in our contract,"

Every word out of her mouth left him more surprised and confused than the last, and just when he'd think he couldn't possibly be more shocked than he already was, she'd speak again.

"You're awfully dense, for a conman," Belle scoffed. "What's your name, anyways?"

"..." he looked away in consideration. "Rumplestiltskin,"

"Ah, yes, Rumplestiltskin..." her eyes glowed with recognition; "I've heard you were there, that day the ogres stopped their attacks on this town. Did you see it?"

He shook his head 'no,' uncertain of where exactly she was going with this new topic.

"I've heard there was a woman who walked out onto the battlefield and made them all leave," she finished the beer and made sure the cup was quiet when it hit the counter. "Tell me, how are the children?"

That was the final straw. The only possible explanation for her to know that and to approach him would be that she was the woman who protected them that day. "Her..." he mumbled quietly; "You're _her_, aren't you?"

Belle raised a brow at him. "'Her?'"

"The woman. The woman who saved them,"

She nodded her head. "The woman who saved a thousand lives," was what she called herself. "That's me,"

The cripple didn't know what to make of her. This woman was a being made purely of beauty, the one he'd met that day was a nearly grotesque sight to behold. "Well..." he sputtered and hesitated; "..what do you want?"

"The deal was," she placed her feet down on the ground; "that you will do 'anything I wished,'" as she stood up, she motioned for him to follow. "I'll see that you keep that promise,"

To a man who made a living by trickery, that was an obviously vague response. The answer probably had a variety of possibilities...or, perhaps she hadn't decided yet? She must have thought the terms were clear, though, from the way she spoke and moved. "What are you waiting for?" she asked after walking a few steps. Just as soon as she said that, he felt a powerful urge in his legs. Before he knew it, he couldn't stop them- couldn't even slow them down. The nerves in his bum legs surged with pain- the bone-shattering pain left over from that mallet so many years ago now felt exactly as he remembered at the split second it happened. It kept moving, kept bending and pushing down against the ground. He alternated between gasping for air and holding his breath.

"St-stop!" he finally begged once they had exited; "Please-whatever you're doing- stop!"

Miraculously, when she stopped walking, he regained control of his legs. She turned back to see him fall over from the pain. He panted noisily, whole body shaking, veins straining against his skin. It actually seemed he might cry.

"Are you alright over there?" she inquired jokingly. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she raised the crutch from the ground and left it hovering in front of him. His bone was still ringing with pain, his mind so focused on it that he didn't notice anything else.

He stayed on the ground for nearly ten whole minutes while Belle waited. Once he had regained himself enough to grab the crutch, she said with a sigh; "I suppose we can't have that happening every time you try to walk, now can we?" Rumple never noticed her move, and she had been several feet ahead of him, yet she was now at his side- lending him an arm. He stared back at her suspiciously and silently declined to take it, opting to strain to his own legs again. She brushed off his rejection and returned to her normal posture. While he was still working his way up from the ground, she started talking again; "So, first things first- is there anyone you need to say 'good-bye' to?"

He froze where he was, leaning on his crutch with his upper body and his good leg supporting the rest with its knee on the ground, and stared at her with that confused, paranoid look she could only attribute to an innocent puppy who had suddenly been kicked. He most certainly wasn't going anywhere with anyone- especially not her, not after that!

"I can't answer your questions unless you ask them, Rumplestiltskin,"

"...I don't know what you want with me," he growled, gritting his teeth; "but, whatever it is, you won't get it,"

She didn't say anything immediately. Instead, she waited for him to get up, at which time he found that she was again uncomfortably close to him. Her face was barely inches from his own, and she only stopped that far back so she could look at him. "If you'll remember, you were the one who set the parameters for the deal- not me. I know you might be accustomed to making bad deals...but none of your clients had the power to remove hoardes of ogres from a battlefield before now, have they?" she saw the fright in his downward-cast gaze and smiled in amusement. "Now, we can do this the easy way, or I can _make you walk _all the way through Sherwood Forest, but you'll be coming with me either way,"

...damnit.  
>Just like that, he was trapped. This morning, he woke up expecting to be heckled, beaten, and insulted like any other day, drink the finest beer he could afford, and then eventually pass out at home when he'd had enough to drink that he could ignore his self-hatred. This woman severed those expectations in under a minute. He nodded unwillingly and swallowed hard.<p>

"There, see?" the cynical, amused smile became something sincere, and the newfound light in her face startled him. "Now, we can understand each other," Belle backed away from him. "I won't waste your time with asking whom you want to speak to before we leave- I already know there's no one in this town who'd miss you- but I'm certain you'll want to bring a reminder or two of who you were for your future self to look at," with that, she put two fingers in her mouth and made a loud whistling sound.

Before Rumplestiltskin fully had time to puzzle through what she was saying, the sound of fast, beating hooves- eight of them, to be exact- accompanied by the sound of wheels on land- clapped out. He could feel the ground vibrating in the soles of his shoes. The horse-drawn carriage came to a gradual stop just in front of him. He stared at it in shock. It was big enough to require both horses to pull it. The metallic rims and handles were made out of pure, clean silver. The seat was a two-sided bench made of flawless red oak wood. He had never seen such a carriage. Even the harness was without the slightest blemish. The horses both had long necks and powerful legs; they appeared muscular and broad. Their manes were thick and the bottom halves of their legs were feathered. Anyone who knew anything about horses would easily recognize them as draught mules.

Her gaze met the horse to the outside of the street first- a horse with charcoal gray fur and cream-colored mane. "Calliope," Belle turned her gaze to the other one, this one being solid black with white flecks; "Urania," she motioned for the conman; "this is Rumplestiltskin," she pulled herself up into the front seat of the carriage. "He's going to be our new friend,"

The one addressed as 'Calliope' padded her hoof against the ground and released a soft snort. 'Urania' shook her head.

The girl turned back to Rumple and motioned for him to come closer. She could tell by his hesitation that he was thinking of trying to make a break for it, so she waited for him to make his decision. He chose not to run. Once his choice was clear, she knelt so she was a little bit towards him. "You'll never get up with that leg," she said. He gave her hand that kicked puppy look and reached for it, then pulled his hand back. She laughed softly. "Well, unless you want me to move you again," and, knowing that his only other alternative was to have his body moved for him, nodded and accepted her hand. Once up, he gradually shuffled to the back of the seat, to avoid being near to her, and sat down. He instantly felt what must have been some invisible restraints tying him to the seat. And, although she must have known this, she sat to the front and said; "This doesn't have to be so terrible, you know. I believe we have a lot more in common than you think, Rumplestiltskin,"

"Just where are we going, anyways?" he spat, annunciating each syllable, slowly turning his head to the side as though he'd be able to see her. They were sitting back-to-back on the two-seated bench and he couldn't move far enough to see her even if he wanted to.

"Oh, you didn't know? I thought you would understand. My apologies," she actually turned around to see him. He stared at her in disdain and pulled his head away. "From now on, you are going to do 'anything I wish.' You'll be like a...like a servant," he flinched at the thought. "It's a small price to pay for the lives of thousands of children, right?" the man tried to struggle out of the invisible restraints, but the harder he pushed against them, the harder the held him down. They even pressed into the pressure points of his leg, causing him to cry out in pain.

He didn't try much longer after that.

"Please don't hurt yourself," she requested, compassion in her voice. "I promise you, it won't be as bad as you think it will. It's not worth all this fear," she smiled happily at him and grabbed his shoulder firmly. He jerked out of her grasp and glared at her. Belle simply sighed and pulled her hand back. The horses walked a few paces before she spoke again; "I truly was hoping that everyone was wrong about you, Rumplestiltskin. That you're not actually such an awful coward," she huffed and sat back down properly. "That's alright. I'll have enough bravery for the both of us, until you can learn to have some, too,"

He thought of trying to hit her- knock her unconscious so that he could run. In fact, the only thing that stopped him were the restraints that forced him into a sitting position. The horses pulled to a stop, and he had been so busy trying to figure out how to escape that he didn't realize the horses had walked a straight path all the way to his house, without any direction or suggestions from him whatsoever. Once he looked around, though, that confused panic came back into his eyes.

"Here we are," spoke that accent chipperly; "Better go on and get your things, then,"

His chest heaved from the way he was breathing- too deep, too fast. "How did you get here?!" he shouted, squirming so hard it jerked him everywhere. "How do you know where I live?!"

"You needn't be so loud. I'm sitting right beside you. And, to answer your question...I do my research," he pulled and strained in an effort to get away. Belle laughed softly in amusement and turned back around so she was sitting on her knees again in the seat; "My apologies again,"

Rumple's eyes widened as the most bizarre sensation he'd ever felt in his entire life- including that mallet splintering his bone- tore all through him. It was the feeling of a real, human hand, plunging into his chest cavity, pushing past his sternum like it wasn't even there. He instinctively choked and pushed his vocal chords to scream, but all he could get out were loud grunts of displeasure. All five fingers wrapped around his heart and pulled it from the spot. "St-stop!" he managed, trying to reach for her arm, though he still couldn't move.

"Here we go," she said, smiling at the still-beating organ in her hand. The happy expression soon took on a twinge of guilt as she looked right up at him. "This way, I won't have to come looking for you," she explained, her eyes immediately lighting up with some sort of excited fascination; "It's sort of like..._I_ have _your_ dagger,"

The only thing he could manage to do was stare at her in terror. The invisible pressures against him were loosed, and he scrambled to leave, either not remembering or not caring that he needed to step down cautiously. He fell completely off, hurting his leg again to the point that he lay there crying and shaking somewhere between the horror of having his heart yanked out and reminding his leg of its injury. Again, he found her right by his side much faster than he thought she could have been, and he couldn't find the strength to push her off him as she pulled him to his feet.

"You forgot your crutch," she held it out to him kindly. He yanked it away from her furiously.

"Leave me alone!" he demanded and shifted his body in an attempt to hit her, but she clutched his heart in her fingers and it immediately stopped on him.

"You must be really angry," she commented in awe as she stared down at his heart, pounding harder and harder in her hand. Dumbstruck by the obvious statement, he froze voluntarily. "I mean," she went on to explain; "usually, taking someone's heart out keeps you from feeling your emotions at full volume, so if you're still this mad...I can only imagine how angry you really are," that seemed to excite her. "Alright, then. Go get your things,"

He didn't want to, but he couldn't defy the order while she was holding his heart in her hand. Once he had grabbed the one item he wanted- a shawl that looked like it belonged to a young boy- he had filled the order, however, and the mechanical urge to do as he was told wore off. Naturally, the first thing he did was run- or, well, limp quickly- out the back door. Belle, knowing he had done this, sat with an amused smirk in the carriage and let him go a little ways before gently clutching the heart again. "Come back to me, Rumplestiltskin," she said with a serene smile, and before he could even process what had happened, he was moving back to the carriage of someone else's volition. "Get what you wanted?" she inquired innocently, gliding off the seat to offer him a hand. "Take my hand," it was probably meant as a suggestion more than an order, but because she was still holding his heart, he had to obey. He grabbed it. "Let me help," she urged. She situated herself so he could lean on her while he straggled on. "See how much easier it is when you let me help?" he still skitted away from her and hurriedly got onto the seat. She sighed and shoved her hand back into his chest, and the restraints immediately re-emerged to hold him down. "You know, Rumplestiltskin," she said, sitting next to him; he squirmed to get away, but found he could not. "You searched for me for twelve years, and now that you've found me, you want to lose me. Surely, you're not _that _fickle?" he stared at her in frightened surprise. "Don't look at me like that. I always know when people are looking for me,"

"So, you...you are..." she closed her hand as if to hush him, and his jaws closed immediately.

"Shh," she nodded. "Didn't you already know that?" Belle smiled at him, gripped his hand encouragingly, and then got up; "As I've said, I believe you and I share a certain goal. So, if you'll stop being miserable about everything, I'm sure we'll enjoy each other's company," with that, she plopped herself down to the front of the bench.

The lightbulb in his brain went off. Rumplestiltskin stopped struggling and eased into the bench. Yes, he had been searching for The Dark One for something like twelve years- but apparently, this woman didn't know why- didn't know he intended to become the new Dark One- didn't know he knew how- didn't know she'd sealed her fate.

Sensing his relaxation, she breathed a sigh of relief as well, and said; "Your head works much more clearly when it isn't clouded by fear," the horses began plodding along, this time at a trotting, steady pace. He gave her a sly glance out of the side of his face, thinking she couldn't see him.

"Hm, I suppose you're right,"

"Isn't it funny?" she didn't seem to like the silence much; "You looked and looked for me for so long, and then when you were looking for something else, you found me. Do you know what that's called, Rumplestiltskin?"

"No. No, I don't,"

"Serendipity," she informed him. "Finding something valuable when you aren't really looking for it," There was a small pause in the conversation, during which she turned back around to sit on her knees so she could look at him. "That name of yours is a real mouthful, you know. It suits you, but it's...just too long. So, I'm going to give you a nickname," she pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I shall call you 'Rumple,'" Belle finally decided; "and you shall be my Rumple forever and ever,"

"Now..." he blinked and looked at her deviously out of the corner of his eye; "what if I don't like this nickname?"

"Then you shouldn't have had such a long name," she teased.

"And this...doing whatever you wish business, what does it entail?"

"Oh, well, there's the typical servants' duties. You will serve me my meals, and you will clean the castle-" he nodded to show he understood; "you'll see the castle, Rumple, it's very big. Let's see. You will dust my bookshelves and launder my clothing...of course, you'll tend the horses..."

"Uh-huh,"

"You will fetch me my books and my tea while I'm reading,"

"Alright,"

"Oh! I almost forgot," she laughed softly; "You will hunt the children, and I shall have you cook them for my meals,"

The shocked fright came back onto his face. "...pardon me?"

She giggled. "Don't you know, Rumple? A young, healthy child well-nursed is, at a year old, a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food," she straightened up her spine and raised her head, her smile growing with delight as more shock and terror appeared on his face; "whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled...and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a Fricasie, or Ragoust,"

After a few seconds, the fear seemed to have a "snapping" effect on him, and he laughed an awkward, high-pitched laugh.

"Ah, I take it you don't know that one," Belle tossed her hair to get it out of her face; "It was a joke. I don't seriously eat children- not enough meat," that one was obviously another quip.

The slight madness left him after that brief second. "So, apart from tending your basic needs...and cooking children...is there...?" given the hesitance and tone with which he asked, she realized what he meant, and promptly let out a laugh with her mouth in the shape of an "O."

"Oh, of course not, Rumple!" she shoved him lightly. "I'm not looking for love. 'Specially not _that_ way. Make no mistake- you are to be my servant. Well, guard, really- but we'll get to that once you've seen the castle,"

"The Dark One needs a guard?"

"It's not a guard for me. A guard for my prisoners. You'll see what I mean when we get there," again, she brushed the hair out of her face.

"So, what am I to call you, then? 'Your Highness?'"

At that term, she visibly drew back, and then shook her head 'no' vigorously. "No, no, no- absolutely not. I spent _years_ trying to get out of that awful title- I'll not have you bringing it back to me,"

Seeing that it bothered her, Rumplestiltskin pressed on under the guise of corteousy. "'My lady?' 'Your Majesty?' 'Lady Belle?'" each suggestion he gave had her shaking her head in disapproval.

"No, no, no- none of that. If you truly must call me something other than just 'Belle,' call me...call me..."

"Miss Belle?" he was intending to annoy her more with that, but she took it seriously and nodded her head in acceptance.

"Yes. That will be fine. 'Miss Belle,'"

And the horses kept plotting along to who-knows-where.


End file.
